


sleight of hand, twist of fate.

by ludgatesdyer



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1990s, F/M, First Love, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, tension! lots of it!, will they get back together? who knows!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludgatesdyer/pseuds/ludgatesdyer
Summary: New York City, 1993.Stephanie Andrews is fulfilling her lifelong dream of being a political journalist for The New York Times, her days of killing interdimensional monsters in her rear view mirror.The Times is looking for a new photojournalist. Enter Jonathan Byers, fresh off of a stint at The New Yorker.The catch?Jonathan and Stephanie used to date.(They killed a demogorgon together too, but that’s besides the point).Title from “With Or Without You” by U2.
Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s), past Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. just another manic monday.

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends! rlly excited to share this story with y’all! if you’re interested in learning more about stephanie, follow me on twitter @ludgatesdyer (same as here lmao). i hope you like it :)
> 
> p.s jonathan and stephanie are both 26 in this, and stephanie’s face claim is saoirse ronan!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie deals with another typical, shitty commute to work. Diana shares some news.

It’s no secret that traffic in New York City is the fucking worst. Pedestrians pushing and shoving their way through the crowd on the crosswalk with their briefcases and expensive purses and coffee cups that are way too big, people rolling down their windows and yelling at each other because they’re driving too slow. It’s chaos, and no one is nice about it. 

New York City is full of busy people with busy lives. It’s always been that way. Business executives, lawyers, doctors, news anchors, radio hosts, actors, directors, and journalists all walk these streets with a sense of purpose. They know where they’re going, and if you’re in their way, they’ll definitely let you know, either by yelling in your face or aggressively brushing their shoulder against yours.

One of these busy people is Stephanie Andrews, who is almost certain that she’s going to be late for work. She’s also almost certain that she should’ve worn a different pair of heels, because these white ones are killing her feet. Her blonde hair, swept up into a bun, is still damp from the fast shower she took after she missed her alarm. Her coffee has almost spilt five times in the past twenty minutes. 

In short, today is one of those days, and it’s only 7:45am. Stephanie rolls her eyes at the thought of anything else going wrong.

The life of a journalist isn’t an easy one. Articles and columns don’t just have to be good. Hell, they can’t even be great. They have to be perfect, without a single flaw. If anyone writes anything that isn’t up to standard, they’re ridiculed for it. In some cases, they wind up losing their job over it.

Stephanie doesn’t take days off. She spends every second of every hour of every day writing articles. Politics has always been her forte, ever since she was nine years old and saw the presidential debate on TV, so it’s not particularly hard to write about politicians and campaigns and feuds and scandals. It is, however, hard to meet certain deadlines and write a piece so perfect that it doesn’t have to be reworked. It’s doable, but it’s hard.

Sometimes this chaos makes her miss the easiness and quietness of Hawkins. Not the interdimensional monsters or the Russian spies, just the normal days when it was peaceful and quiet and you could actually go somewhere without worrying about being killed.

-

She hurries into the building, high heels clicking against the marble floor. The elevator is broken, so she takes the stairs. Eight flights later, she opens the door to her office. She says her hellos and how are yous and then plops down in her cubicle, ready to start another day of endless writing.

“Steph! There you are!” A pair of heels click towards her from a distance. It’s Diana, frequent collaborator and work best friend and fellow lover of politics. She doesn’t have to turn around to know. She can recognize that distinct long brown hair, those round black glasses, those three inch black high heels and that Brooklyn accent from anywhere.

“Are we gonna talk about that debacle on CNN last night?” Stephanie chuckles, fixing her hair in the mirror on her desk. “Ridiculous, Di. I’m telling you.”

“Later.” Diana replies, sitting on the edge of the desk, making herself comfortable. “Did ya hear the news? They’re tryna get a new photojournalist in time for the debates!”

Stephanie wasn’t surprised that they were looking for a new photojournalist. The previous one, Derek, was horrible. She sort of felt bad. He was a nice guy and a few years younger than her, fresh out of University with hopes to become a famous photographer. His photography skills, however, were less than subpar. He took pictures from a mile away and his thumb was almost always in the lens. He always blamed it on his camera, said he would get it fixed, and then never did.

“Ya know, I really wanted to like that guy, okay?” Diana doesn’t give Stephanie any time to respond and just keeps on talking like the chatterbox she is. “He’s nice. Figured all he needed was a few tips from a professional or somethin’.”

“I kind of feel bad for him.”

“Me too, Stephy. Nothin’ you can do when ya can’t do your job though.”

“We’ll finally get some good pictures now that he’s gone.” Stephanie breathes a sigh of relief. “Did they find a replacement yet?”

“Nah. I hear they got a few candidates for the job though.” Diana says, twirling a strand of her brown hair around her finger - a habit she picked up from someone else in the office. “Final interviews are in two days. Howeva’, I was able to get some info off of David.”

“How’d you pull that off?” Stephanie was surprised. David worked a few floors up from them - nice guy, incredible writer, but a man of a few words. 

“Said I’d buy him lunch for the rest of the week if he gave me the scoop. Ya got me so far?” Diana continues. Stephanie nods.

“So, he told me that Paul interviewed a lot of good guys. Got their heads on straight. He didn’t say anythin’ about them being good lookin’, obviously, but I’m hopin’ at least one of ‘em is a stunner. Right, Stephy?” Diana winked at Stephanie, whose face turned bright red. She hadn’t dated in a few years - never felt like she could commit to a relationship when she worked so damn much.

“I don’t care about that. I just want someone who takes good pictures at debates and stuff.” Stephanie noted.

“Right.” Diana hopped off the desk, clearly not buying a word of what Stephanie said. “Anyways, Paul’s got two frontrunners already. They must be good if he likes ‘em that much.”

“Paul’s hard to please.” Stephanie retorted. It was true. Paul was the senior photojournalist who wanted those who worked for him to be great or nothing. He didn’t need another Derek. He didn’t want another Derek.

“One of ‘em is named Logan. I think his last name is Brown or somethin’. I don’t remember. He’s way older than us, like forty five or somethin’. He used to be a wedding photographer until he found his calling.” Diana said. “The other one is some guy named Jonathan Byers.”

Stephanie felt a lump in her throat when she heard that name. 

Diana went on to talk about how he was a photojournalist at The New Yorker for about a year or so, and did some freelance stuff in between, and that in her personal opinion she thought he was the stronger candidate, but she wasn’t listening.

All she kept thinking about was that name.

Jonathan Byers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Manic Monday" by The Bangles.


	2. how did we get so far apart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie wonders why her and Jonathan’s paths haven’t crossed.

Stephanie doesn’t understand it.

New York City is a big city. It’s not like Hawkins - not an “everyone knows everyone” type of place. 

Yet, she’s sitting at her desk wondering how she and Jonathan haven’t at least caught a glimpse of each other here.

Stephanie had been working at The New York Times for about three years now - the same amount of the time that she’s been living in New York City. In that time, she’s covered numerous political events, been invited to a number of fancy journalist parties, and written countless articles. 

How is it that they’ve never seen each other?

Surely Diana must have made a mistake. She’s made them before. Plenty of times. Stephanie doesn’t doubt her intelligence, her parents are both college professors and she graduated from Columbia with honours and one of the best averages, but she does have an iffy memory. For a whole week in August, Diana took it upon herself to make coffee for everyone on the politics team. Even though she was given a list with her colleagues’ orders, she still strode through the office doors every morning at 8:30 with coffees that didn’t have enough sugar or had too much milk in them. She was all the office could talk about that month. Stephanie felt bad for her. 

Maybe this was one of those situations. Maybe Diana got him mixed up with someone else. She couldn’t possibly be talking about the Jonathan she knew, right? There’s probably thousands of other people named Jonathan Byers out there. 

“Hello? Earth to Stephy?” Diana snaps Stephanie out of her train of thought, waving her hand in front of her face. “You there?”

“Did David tell you anything about Jonathan?” Stephanie asks, a desperate tone in her voice. “Like...where he was from or where he went to school?”

“You really think David is the kind of guy to fish for personal info?” Diana snorts, stifling a laugh. “Why are you askin’?”

Stephanie knows it’s not professional to ask for an interviewee’s personal information. It’s completely out of line, and she feels terrible for doing so, but she’s desperate. She needs answers. If the Jonathan Byers that Diana was talking about was the Jonathan Byers she knew - the one she once loved - she’s not quite sure what she would do. 

“Just tell me what he told you, Di.” Stephanie leans in close, careful not to let anyone else listen to their conversation.

“I don’t know.” Diana shrugs her shoulders. “I remember him saying something about this Jonathan guy being from Hawkins.”

Stephanie’s eyes widen as Diana’s eyebrows furrow.

“Was it Hawkins? Is that what he said? I think so. Don’t quote me on that.” Diana thinks aloud. “That’s where you’re from, right? Do you know him?”

Right before Stephanie is about to respond, Diana’s desk phone rings.

“I gotta take this. Might be that midterm candidate from Queens I was talking to yesterday.” Diana says, booping Stephanie’s nose. “I’ll try and get more info, Stephy, even though I have no clue why you care so much about this Jonathan guy. Promise.”

Diana turns on her heel and walks away, leaving Stephanie alone at her desk to ponder over what the actual hell just happened.

-

Stephanie spends the rest of the day taking phone calls from election candidates and campaign managers and fellow news reporters of all kinds. It’s a nice distraction from this morning’s news, both on the television and from Diana’s mouth.

No amount of work can erase the thoughts from her mind. The thought that her ex boyfriend is in the same city as her and probably has been for quite some time and they’ve never seen each other. Not once.

Journalists all know one another, especially in New York. The Times, The Yorker, The Daily News, The Post - everyone knows who their counterparts are and what they’re writing about. They talk at events and read each other’s articles. Stephanie’s met many people who work for The New Yorker, all incredible journalists with amazing and unique styles of reporting. Not one of them mentioned Jonathan. Not one of them was Jonathan.

1988 was the last time she ever saw him in person. They ran into each other at the store. They talked briefly about then-new music that’d come out from The Cure and David Bowie. Stephanie asked how he and Nancy were. He said they were fine. The way his eyes lit up when he spoke about her made Stephanie feel nauseous. A few minutes later, she made up a lie that she had to get home to help her mom with dinner (in truth, she just feel weird and awkward and wanted to get out of there as fast as she could so she could cry in her car over how much of a stupid idiot she was). They awkwardly hugged and then, without a word, she turned around and walked away.

Nancy. Stephanie wonders if she and Jonathan are still together. She assumes so, because back in Hawkins they seemed like they were inseparable. Their relationship was a wound that stung Stephanie at 17, and still somewhat stung now at 26. She wasn’t sure why. After all, she was the one who broke things off, not him.

Just before she’s about to head out for the night, Diana comes running towards her. Stephanie doesn’t know how she can run in heels, especially this late in the work day.

“I found out some things, Stephy. Made good on my promise.” Diana says in a hushed tone. “Jonathan Byers is from Hawkins, Indiana. He went to Hawkins High School and then went to NYU. He graduated with a degree in photography.”

A pause.

“He got the job, Stephy. I overheard Paul talking to David literally five minutes ago ‘bout it. Says he’s the most qualified for it. Nice resume, apparently.”

Stephanie stands there with her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“I’m not gonna keep ya, but tomorrow I expect you to tell me everythin’ about this guy and why you were so obsessed with finding out more about him.” Diana pats Stephanie on the shoulder and walks past her, heading for the office doors.

A small smile appears on Stephanie’s face.

Jonathan Byers was somewhere in this big, chaotic, crowded city, and she was going to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Apart” by The Cure.


End file.
